


Black Betha

by ariel2me



Series: Drabble/Ficlet Collection [21]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets about Betha Blackwood.





	1. Chapter 1

She is blamed for her children’s trail of broken betrothals, as a mother is always blamed for her children’s deficiencies real or perceived, as a mother is always blamed if there are only daughters and no son, as a wife is always blamed if there are no children at all.

If the children are willful, if they are stubborn, if they are reckless, it must be because they are following their mother’s footsteps, it must be because the blood flowing in them is _her_ blood.

Never mind that Betha had not broken any betrothal at all when she married her husband for love.

Never mind that it had been Betha’s assiduous planning and deft machination that had secured the betrothals that would have secured Aegon’s rule.

Never mind that it had been Betha’s voice speaking the loudest, louder than even her husband’s, trying to convince Duncan to remember his duty as heir to the throne.

Never mind that it had been Betha who understood that Jaehaerys and Shaera must be separated at once, who decided that they must not live under the same roof in the same castle, in an effort to prevent two more broken betrothals. They blamed her for that effort too, when Jaehaerys and Shaera eluded their guardians and eloped.

A mother is always blamed.


	2. Chapter 2

“May I join you?”

“You may _not_. I do not care to ride with a liar.”

“A liar? Me?”

“Who else?”

“My lady?”

“You lied to me, the first time we met. You said you were a squire to a hedge knight.”

“I _was_ one, my lady, at the time. I did not lie.”

“I took you to be the son of another hedge knight perhaps, the son of an old friend of Ser Duncan, a brave but luckless knight who died penniless, a man who with his dying breath entrusted his motherless and soon-to-be fatherless boy into the care of his one and true friend.”

“It is true that my mother has been dead these many years. I _am_ motherless, though –“

“Though certainly not fatherless! You never said. You never said your father is the Prince of Summerhall.”

“Ah … that is … you never asked, my lady. And even if you had, regretfully, I would not have been able to tell you the truth at the time. I promised my father, you see, to keep it a secret.”

“To think that I have been wasting my time worrying about that poor orphaned young man. _Is he keeping well? Is he safe? Does he have enough to eat, someplace warm to stay, someone to care for him when he is ill?_ I even prayed for that unfortunate young man, and I have not done any praying since … since … well, it has been _too_ long to remember. Imagine my surprise when that young man suddenly barges into Raventree Hall with his father the grand prince and all their grand entourage, smiling so brightly as if all is right with the world.”

“Forgive me for pointing this out, my lady, but you are hardly in a position to chastise me for lying. If you recall, the first time we met, when I saw you in the godswood, you told me that you were a woods witch. You examined my palm with the gravest expression and told me that I would be a great but doomed king one day. _A king who flies too close to the sun,_ you said.”

“But you knew who I really was very soon after that. You were not left with a mistaken impression for months and months.”

“Only because your brother interrupted us. He laughed and told you to stop scaring gullible squires with your made-up prophecies, as I recall. Tell me, my lady, did you find me a more fascinating figure when you thought I was the son of a luckless hedge knight?”

“Did you find _me_ a more fascinating figure when you thought I was a woods witch? You could not keep your eyes off of me, as I recall. But you ran fast enough, once you found out who I really was.”

“I only knew you to be the daughter of Lord Blackwood. I did not know _you_ , my lady.”

“Indeed you did not. That is the first true thing you have said today.”

“Will I ever have the chance to know you, as you truly are?”

“Ride with me. If you and your horse can best me and mine, then perhaps I will consider it. Perhaps.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Aegon V/Betha Blackwood, WWI AU**

The Great War _changed_ her husband – it seemed almost trite to say this, since the war changed millions of lives and destroyed so many – but that was the truth of it. The man who once renounced his title so he could run for a seat in the House of Commons, who time after time stood on the House floor excoriating the Government for spending more money on guns and ships than on the care and welfare of the people – that same man now lectured and plotted with undisguised zeal about “national strength” and “military buildup.”

Who _was_ this stranger, this interloper who was at once Egg and not Egg, this man in her bed whose kiss still smelled of mint, whose touch traced a familiar course on her body, but whose tongue no longer shared his plans let alone his secrets with her, and whose ears were deaf to her words and her counsel as they had never been before?    

 _To remake the world into a better place, into what we wish it to be, first we have to hold it in the palms of our hands,_ that was his new refrain, learned through bitter experience.

He had to continue fighting, or he would drown in the depth of his own despair and disillusionment; she, on the other hand, had to continue reminding him of what they _truly_ stood for and believed in, or she feared they would drown on the route to the new world he was intent on creating, alongside countless others.


	4. Chapter 4

“What sort of queen will you be?”

 “A good one, I should hope.”

“And it begins with advising your husband to sentence me to death?”

“You must be punished. Surely you see that. If you are not punished, then Aegon’s words will not be worth the scroll they are written on. Safe passage was promised to that Blackfyre pretender.”

“I see a king who would not have been king if Aenys Blackfyre’s head had not been struck off by my order. I see a realm drenched in blood if I had cared more about keeping my word and about my oh-so-precious honor than about the good of the realm.”

“And I see a king whose reign begins with a broken promise and an unpunished crime. Such a king –“

“- could not hope to rule in peace for long. I know. What must be, must be.”

“Aegon will offer you the chance to take the black in lieu of death. You must accept it.”

“Must I? Perhaps I prefer death. Have you thought of that?”

“Uncle, you must!”

Brynden Rivers is not really an uncle, more a cousin a few times removed, but _Uncle Brynden_ he had always been to Betha. The thought of him losing his head makes her shudder. 

He lifts up her chin. “Hold your head up. You had the right of it. I must be punished, for the sake of the crown. A queen must not waver, must not lose the courage of her conviction, especially one married to a dreamer such as Aegon.”

“Aegon is a good man, and he will be a good king.”

“Perhaps. If he has a strong enough string tethering him down to earth while he dreams of flying.”

“You mean yourself? You are that string?”

He laughs. “No, Betha. I mean _you_. I mean his queen.”

“What if I want to fly too? What if I want to be by his side holding his hand while he reaches up for his dream?”

“You can be by his side, but you must never lose sight of the ground. You do not have the luxury, child.”

“I am not a child, Uncle.”

“No, you are not, Your Grace.”


	5. Chapter 5

"So you are the girl my son wishes to wed," Prince Maekar says, inspecting Betha from head to toe as if she were a piece of horseflesh.

Betha frowns. _Girl._ She is nineteen, a woman grown, hardly a girl. "I am the woman who wishes to wed your son," she replies, not bothering to fake a smile. This man could not be charmed, could not be soothed or cajoled with sweet words or lingering smiles, Betha had concluded, from the little Aegon had shared with her about his father. Maekar Targaryen must be met in his own terrain and on his own terms. Steely determination is the only language he understands.

"Did _he_ put you up to this? Was this _his_ doing?"

"Who do you mean, Your Grace?"

Eyes bulging, Prince Maekar snaps, "Do not play the fool with me! You know who I meant. You are not a silly, fatuous girl, I can say that about you, at least. But are you a sneak and a liar? Are you one of Bloodraven's a thousand and one eyes, to be inserted in my household under the guise of a blushing bride?"

Undeterred, Betha meets Prince Maekar's piercing gaze and calmly replies, "Do you take me for the type to blush so easily?"

He laughs. Oh it is _harsh_ , the sound of his laughter, harsh and bitter, so very different from his son's joyful and exhilarated laughter. But the words coming out from his mouth are a surprise to Betha.

"I can see why my son would find you so irresistible."

 _How would you even know?_ Betha could not imagine this severe, stern, unyielding man being the type of father who would invite confidences on matters of the heart from his children. 

"Aegon does not need to tell me anything. I can see it in his eyes when he speaks of you, when he looks at you," Prince Maekar says, eyes gleaming, as if he had been reading Betha's mind. "His infatuation is very clear."

 _Infatuation._ Betha detests the word, a put-down meant to trivialize a deeper, longer lasting bond.

"Of what do you suspect me, Your Grace? Do you suspect that my cousin Lord Brynden convinced me to seduce your son Aegon to further some nefarious plan of his? If he really has in mind to corrupt one of your sons through me, would it not be cleverer for him to have me seduce one of your older sons, the ones closer to the throne? Where is the benefit to Cousin Brynden for a kin of his to wed the fourth son to a fourth son, one unlikely to ever sit the Iron Throne?"

"Perhaps he tried, and you refused to do his bidding."

"You think too ill of him."

"And my son thinks too well of you. It will not last, you know. The shine will fade in time."

"Everything fades if it is not continually polished and worked on."

"Oh? SO love is not destiny? It is not fate, something meant to be?"

Betha ignores his mocking tone. "Love is hard work. And I am ready for it. We both are, your son and I."

"Then I wish you both well," Prince Maekar says, with no trace of mockery in his voice this time.


	6. Chapter 6

**For the prompt: Betha Blackwood and her thoughts about her daughter Rhaelle being betrothed to Lyonel Baratheon’s heir.**

“I find it strange, Mother, to see you being so set against Rhaelle’s betrothal,” Shaera said, in  _that_  tone, the tone of voice she often affected these days to show her dissatisfaction with her mother.

Betha sighed. What now? How else had she disappointed her elder daughter? How else had she – in Shaera’s words – “ _participated, aided and abetted in persecuting her own children_ ”?

_Children should be a comfort to their mother and father, not a constant source of worry._

Her mother’s old admonition still rang in Betha’s ears.

_One day, you will have children of your own, Betha. And I pray to all the gods old and new that none of your children will turn out to be as willful and as stubborn as you are. For your own sake, child._

Obviously, her mother’s prayers had fallen on gods’ deaf ears.

“Mother, you are not even listening!” Shaera exclaimed, sulking.

“Why is it so strange, Shaera? Tell me. Enlighten me, if you will.”

“Well, how is this any different? How is Father promising Rhaelle’s hand in marriage to Lord Baratheon’s heir any different than you and Father arranging my marriage to Lord Tyrell’s heir, without even asking me if I wish to marry that … that … that  _oaf_ , that foul man with even fouler breath?”

“Now that is pure nonsense, Shaera. Luthor Tyrell does not have foul breath.”

“He most certainly  _does_! I sat next to him during the betrothal feast, for  _hours_  after excruciating  _hours_. I should know, Mother.”

“Well, for one thing, Luthor Tyrell’s father never committed treason, never took arms against your father,” Betha snapped. Duncan was in the wrong, certainly, for breaking his betrothal to Lord Baratheon’s daughter. But Duncan had already renounced his claim to the throne, had already given up being the Prince of Dragonstone, when Lyonel Baratheon renounced  _his_  allegiance to the Iron Throne and declared himself the Storm King. Surely there was a limit to the amount of reparation they were supposed to pay the Baratheons?

“He’s been defeated!” Betha pointed out to her husband, after Lord Commander Duncan defeated Lyonel Baratheon in single combat. “Lyonel’s rebellion has failed. And yet, we are to serve our daughter on a silver platter to appease him? To soothe his wounded pride?”

“He fell in single combat. His army was not completely defeated. The stormlords will rise again, mark my word, should Lyonel ever give them the word,” Aegon had replied.

It had been a rude awakening, to see how swiftly and eagerly the stormlords had risen to support Lyonel Baratheon’s rebellion, how easily they had embraced treason to their king. Most of those lords had long been looking for an excuse, Betha suspected, a pretext to justify their opposition to the throne and to Aegon’s reforms; reforms which they claimed infringed on their gods-given rights, reforms which they saw as stealing from worthy highborn lords to give to unworthy lowly peasants.

Lyonel Baratheon’s fury about the dishonor suffered by his daughter was real enough, Betha would grant, but she very much doubted that Argella Baratheon’s dishonor was the primary consideration for the other lords. Before his daughter’s broken betrothal, Lyonel himself, by virtue of his close friendship with Aegon, could at least be counted on to not voice his opposition to Aegon’s reforms loudly in public, even if, like the other lords, he was not altogether enthusiastic about them in private.

But now, it was as if a floodgate had been opened. Duncan’s broken betrothal had given those lords the excuse they needed to brook their opposition clearly and loudly, no longer in whispers and snide asides about the king they reviled as being “more than half a peasant himself _.” Of course_  the son of such a king would rather wed a peasant girl than the daughter of an honored lord, they sneered.  

Deep down, Betha understood, of course. She understood her husband’s reasoning. She understood why Lyonel Baratheon must be appeased, one last time. And she had never shrunk from her duty as queen before.  _She_  had been the one who suggested the betrothals with the sons and daughters of the Great Houses for their children after all.

But Rhaelle … Rhaelle was her youngest. Her little girl. Her little girl who must now go to Storm’s End to live with strangers who bore her brother, and perhaps her entire family, a great resentment. A little girl who must now serve as cupbearer to the lord driven by fury to take arms against her father. A little girl who one day must wed the son of that same lord; must share his bed, must bear his children -  _Baratheon_  children.

 _If only_  …

If only Duncan had not gone to the Riverlands. If only Duncan had not seen that girl. If only Duncan had not been so blinded by -

“You married for love, Mother. You and Father both. You both  _chose_ , and yet you seek to deny your children that same choice. Could you not find it in your heart to understand why I did what I did?” Duncan had pleaded.

But understanding was one thing, and condoning was another.


	7. Chapter 7

“It is time, Betha,” her husband said, holding out his hand towards her, as he had done so countless times before. This time, she refused to take the hand he offered her.

It was time. Time to leave for the Great Sept of Baelor. Time to leave for the wedding. The accursed wedding she had never wanted, the accursed wedding the bride and groom had never wanted, the wedding of siblings that Aegon had once claimed he was deeply opposed to, despite his Targaryen ancestry.

“ _You_ go. This is _your_ doing as much as Jaehaerys,” she lashed out.   

“Rhaella would want to see her grandmother there. It will give her courage.”

As if Rhaella had lacked courage. She had cajoled, argued, pleaded, begged, demanded. Her father, her mother, her grandmother, her grandfather, even her aunts and uncles both by blood and by marriage; she had gone to _all_ of them, made her case to _all_ of them.

In the end, only Aegon’s word could have stopped the wedding. But Betha’s husband, this stranger staring at her with apprehension; he had abdicated his responsibility, his duty.

How conditional a woman’s power turned out to be, Betha thought, bitterly. How conditional a woman’s power turned out to be when she was a mere consort, even if there was a ‘ _queen_ ’ preceding the word ‘ _consort._ ’ Even if she had always believed - mistakenly, as it turned out - that her marriage had been a true partnership of mind, will and body; that she and her husband had been true partners in _every_ sense of the word, true partners working together towards a common purpose, towards a shared goal.

How conditional a woman’s power turned out to be, when she was not wielding it in her own right, but only by right of marriage. Conditional on her husband’s whim. Conditional on her husband’s will, or lack of will, in this case. Aegon’s lack of will to prevent this wedding from taking place.

“You are still king. Jaehaerys still has to _obey_ your command,” Betha had railed, back when she thought it was still possible to stop the wedding.

“He will not listen. When did he ever listen?”

“Then _make_ him listen! You have that power. You and you _alone_ have that power. Threaten him if you have to. Tell him, ‘ _a king can choose his heir, he has that prerogative._ ’ Tell him _, ‘Duncan could always be reinstated as my heir. The Baratheons are loyal to the Iron Throne once more, thanks to Rhaelle’s influence on her lord husband.’_ Tell him not to be a stupid fool who puts his trust in a ludicrous prophecy and loses his throne because of it.”

“There are prophecies,” Aegon said, gloomily, “and then there are prophecies.”

“Was that what he threw in your face, that ungrateful son of ours? _‘You believe in prophecies about the dragons coming back, Father. How could you scorn the prophecy I solemnly believe? How could you be so certain it will not be fulfilled?’_ ”

Aegon’s lengthy silence was confirmation enough for Betha. “You are as much a fool as Jaehaerys!” she cried out in frustration.

“It was your dream, too, Betha, for the realm to be –“

“The dragons were never _my_ dream.”

“We tried it your way. We tried it your way and it failed.”

“It would have worked, if all the marriages had taken place. It worked with the Baratheons, did it not, despite Lyonel’s short-lived rebellion? The current Lord Baratheon, your loyal good-son, sits on your small council and supports the reforms you propose, with nary a whisper about another rebellion brewing in the Stormlands.”

“ _’Would have worked’_ is not the same as _‘it did work.’”_

“And you blame _me_ for that?” Betha asked, furiously, incredulously.

“No, Betha, I blame myself. But regardless of who is to blame, we are where we are. We cannot turn back time.”

Where they were, and where they were headed, terrified Betha in a way she had never been terrified before.


	8. Chapter 8

“Will there be candles, like when we are praying in the sept?” Steffon asked his grandmother.

“No. There are no candles in the godswood. We do not need candles to pray to the old gods.”  _Or the dull droning of a self-righteous septon putting us all to sleep_ , Betha thought.

“How big is the heart tree? Can I hug it? Will it fit in my arms?”

Betha roared with laughter. Now,  _there_  was a series of questions resembling the ones Steffon's own mother used to ask when she was a little girl. “No, child, you  _most_  certainly cannot. Heart trees are bigger than even the span of Lord Commander Duncan's arms. And the heart tree at Raventree is bigger than most. It isten times the size of the heart tree at Casterly Rock.”

“ _Ten_  times?” Steffon asked, mouth and eyes wideopen with amazement.

“Yes, ten times. You can tell your friend Tywin that, the next time he tries to impress you again with the glory and greatness of Casterly Rock.”

They had become inseparable, Betha's two grandsons and the Lannister boy. She had not warmed to this Tywin Lannister. He was not a fool like his father, thank the gods, but the boy was _proud_ , too proud for his own good. “ _A Lannister is worth ten times as much as any common man_ ,” Betha had caught him telling Steffon and Aerys in the training yard one morning, after he had dazzled them with his skill with a real sword, while Steffon and Aerys were still training with wooden swords. Both her grandsons had stared and stared at Tywin as if he were a god standing high up on a pedestal, raining his golden blessing on lesser mortals.

It would have to be watched, and watched carefully, that burgeoning bond between the Lannister boy and their grandsons, not to mention the undue influence Tywin might exert on the younger boys, Betha had warned her husband. Looking distracted, Aegon had nodded and said,  _yes, yes, I'm sure you are right, Betha._ But she could not be certain that he had  _truly_  heard her. These days, his ears seemed to hear only the siren song of dragons, and his heart seemed to beat only for the dream of waking those dragons, a dream she did not and  _could not_  share, a dream she feared would cause him to lose sight of everything else that mattered.

 _The first time we kissed, we were standing under the heart tree after dusk, as the ravens were coming home to roost on Raventree's great dead weirwood._ She had felt her heart pounding and racing, but Betha could not hear the beating of her own heart, or Egg's heart for that matter; they were drowned out by the sound of a thousand ravens flapping their wings.

“What are you going to pray for in front of the heart tree, Grandmother?” Steffon asked.

_I will pray for your grandfather to remember. To remember all the other dreams, the ones we had shared together._


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s not fair! I’ll never see you again! Never!” exclaimed Betha.

Melantha laughed, playfully pinching her sister’s left cheek, before planting a kiss on the other cheek. “Don’t be too dramatic, little sister. Of course you will see me again. Winterfell is not the end of the world.”

Still pouting, Betha asked, “Do you  _want_ to marry Lord Stark’s heir?”

“I will be the Lady of Winterfell, like Black Aly was,” replied Melantha. Black Aly was one of Betha’s great heroes. At least she _had_  been, when she was Black Aly the bold, daring and spirited commander who led the team of archers that defeated the royalist army during the Dance of the Dragons. Lady Alysanne, who wed Cregan Stark the Old Man of the North, was less of an interest to Betha.

“That is not a real answer,” complained Betha. “I asked you about your betrothed, not about his castle.”

“I want to be the Lady of Winterfell, and marrying Lord Stark’s heir is the means to achieve it. There, that is my real answer,” declared Melantha.

Betha did not look convinced. “You’ve never made a fuss about wanting to be the Lady of Winterfell, before Father brought up the matter of the betrothal.”

“How could I? Ambition is thought to be crude, vulgar and unseemly in a woman. We are expected to sit demurely with our hands on our laps, smiling shyly while saying, ever so gently,  _Oh no, I am not interested in power or position in the least. I only wish to be a good wife to my husband and a good mother to our children._  Well, that is not enough for me, Betha. I am the eldest daughter of the Lord of Raventree, and my fate is already written, one way or the other. If I must wed a man for political alliance rather than love, then I would rather wed a man that could give me a powerful and influential position. I would rather be Lady Stark than Lady Frey.”    

“You could have been Lady Tully. The Tullys are as influential as the Starks.”  _And Riverrun is closer to Raventree Hall than Winterfell_ , thought Betha.   

“I would rather wed a man who is also a worshipper of the old gods,” replied Melantha, “so that there would be no dispute about which faith our children should be raised in. If I wed a Tully, this is a dispute in which my Tully husband will almost surely prevail. How could the future Lord Tully, the paramount lord in the riverlands, be raised in the faith of the old gods, when the entirety of the riverlands except House Blackwood worship the Seven?”

“It was  _you_ ,” Betha finally realized. “You were the one who wanted and encouraged Father to seek the match with the Starks, even when there were many voices in Raventree and the riverlands saying that Father was aiming too high and too grandly.”

Melantha nodded. “I told Father that reminding the Starks about the match between Alysanne Blackwood and Cregan Stark would be helpful to our cause.” After a pause, she asked, “Are you disappointed in me, Betha? Do you think me crude, vulgar and unseemly? Do you consider me unwomanly?”

Betha shook her head, vigorously. “No, not at all. I think you’re bold and daring, like Black Aly.”

“Though,” Betha added, wistfully, “I wish … I wish that Winterfell is not so far away.”

Melantha wrapped her sister in a tight embrace. “We’ll always be sisters, no matter how far we are from one another.”


End file.
